


To Pleasure a King

by Psyromayniak



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, DCColdwave, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, bottom!mick, coldwave, i.e. before the show by a few years, set before mick's little accident when they were still working together, top!snart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psyromayniak/pseuds/Psyromayniak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len and Mick return to their apartment after a heist to celebrate </p><p>or</p><p>that one time Mick let Len top<br/>(Set five to ten years or so before the events of 'The Flash')</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Pleasure a King

**Author's Note:**

> for snarkysnartes on tumblr~

  
It was just another night. Just another heist. Snart had pulled it off down to the last second, making all the plans and making sure every member of their crew followed through. Mick was the muscle. Mick made sure the guards went down and didn’t get back up.

  
Heist successful, loot stashed, crew disbanded for the evening, Mick Rory and Leonard Snart hit the bar. Mick hit it hard, as he always did, riled up on adrenaline and the spoils of war. That’s what he called it, sometimes: war. War against the police, war against the government, war against any establishment who dared set itself against him and the pure anarchy he craved. It’d always been that way for Mick, ever since Snart had met him back when he was 14.

  
Len drank, but not too much. He could hold his liquor but he didn’t like being too inebriated in public, where they were vulnerable. Anyway, he had to keep a handle on Mick. It wouldn’t take much for punches or bar stools to start flying around his partner; that was Mick’s idea of a good night. But it did nothing to keep their profile low.

On cue, almost as Mick stood up to tower menacingly over the little guy who’d just knocked into him, Len was grabbing Mick’s belt and pulling him toward the door. He put up a fight, but a small one. Resigned to leaving, resigned to Snart calling the shots on duty; in public.

“C’mon Len I wasn’t gonna hurt him... _much_.”

“You can start a bar fight any other night of the week. Tonight we need to lay low, avoid any unwanted attention. We have beer back at home, Mick.”

But the beer never left the fridge.

Once the door was closed to their shoddy little apartment – a real Skid-Row-type special – Mick was grabbing Snart’s shoulders and hauling him into a wall. Drunk Mick wasn’t the gentlest, but then again neither was sober Mick, so it wasn’t a surprise for Snart when the hulking man’s chest half slammed against him, his lips crushing hungrily against Snart’s own.

Linking his arms up around Mick’s neck, Len kissed his partner back with fervour, meeting the other man’s tongue in his mouth at once before yielding to it. Mick’s hands were straight at his pants, pulling open his fly and palming the quickly hardening form of his cock through his boxers.

Snart pushed Mick back just long enough to pull the other man’s shirt over his head, his hands settling on his firm stomach as he kissed him again, harder. Snart pushed forward and slid his tongue between Mick’s lips, surprising himself when he was met with no resistance.

Mick groaned, pawing at Len’s waistband as he shifted his hips forward to grind against him. Snart’s hands dropped to Mick’s hips, sitting there for a few seconds, appreciating the pressure of Mick’s hard on against his own, before using his weight to push forward. Mick stumbled back a pace, giving Len an opening to step into the gap, pushing again.

The back of Mick’s calves bashed into the ratty old couch in what passed as their living room and he grinned, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants drop down with his underwear before collapsing into the seat, toeing off his boots. He looked on with half lidded eyes as Len stripped before grabbing the man’s hips and pulling him into his lap.

Mick’s arms around him, Snart buried his head in the curve of the other man’s neck, kissing and nipping and sucking at the skin. He threaded one hand between their bodies, feeling the heat coming off Mick in waves, to take hold of both of their shafts. Under him, Mick grunted, pulling him closer and tilting his head back as Len worked both of their cocks together.

Mick pulled his bottom lip into his mouth as he felt Snart’s thumb rub across his tip, smearing pre-come from one head to the other and back again before he moved his hand back down their shafts, pumping slowly, deliberately.

Len’s mouth was moving across his shoulder now, his tongue spiralling against his skin. God did he want to take him; fuck him right there on the couch, let the guy ride his dick bareback – really show him who was in control when they weren’t on a job.

But there was something there, niggling at the back of his mind. Hell, it could have been the beer, it could have been the adrenaline or the thought of the cool hundred grand he knew was waiting for him in their stash, after the job _Len_ had pulled off like a dream... Or it could have been the way Len’s hands were working him, the way his tongue was running over his nipples, but something in him wanted _Len_. He wanted Len to be inside of him, looking down at him with those piercing blue eyes, giving him that same, stone-cold-killer look that he had on a job, or when he was ending a life.

“I want you,” Mick grunted, running his tongue over his teeth.

“I know,” Len seemed breathless and there was a cold, wet hand on his cock. _Fuck knows_ where the lube had come from but Snart had the bottle in one hand while he slid the other over Mick’s length.

Mick grabbed Len’s wrist, stopping him suddenly. He shifted up the couch, raising his head to meet Snart’s eyes and opening his legs around the man.

“No, Len. I want _you_ to fuck _me_.”

Snart’s mouth fell open in a brief moment of shock before he recovered; regained his composure and shifted his lubed hand from around Mick’s shaft down to let his fingertips press at Mick’s entrance.

“You _sure_?”

“Yeah,” Mick rested his head back against the arm of the couch, “just hurry up before I change my mind.”

Without another word Snart slid a finger inside the man under him, pleasantly surprised at the lack of resistance as he added another. Sure, he’d fantasised about fucking Mick before, but he never imagined the man not to put up a fight. As far as Snart knew, Mick wasn’t the kind of guy who bottomed for anyone, and he’d known him for more than two decades. Yet here he was, relaxed as anything as Len slid a third finger into him, twisting them and splaying them to open his partner up.

When Mick was ready, Len pumped more lube onto his palm and coated his shaft, looking down at the man beneath him. In the half light of the room, illuminated only by the yellow-gold mix of streetlights and headlights seeping through the gaps in the blind, Mick was almost regal. His broad shoulders, bulging biceps and strong thighs gave him the frame of a king; of a warrior. The dappled burns on his forearms were his trophies, his medals won in the fire and brimstone of his personal war that he wore with pride. Mick wasn’t pretty like Len always had been, but he wasn’t unattractive. The line of his jaw was strong, his chin set like Cesar ordering an execution, a roaring flame ever burning behind his eyes.

Snart tipped forward, letting his chest kiss Mick’s as he positioned himself against the other man’s entrance. One handed, he guided the head of his cock into alignment, taking a breath and pushing, slowly, in.

As Len penetrated him, Mick fought against his body not to tense, to push him out. _He wanted this_. He wanted Leonard Snart to fill him, own him in that moment, let him feel the pleasure that he usually gave. Mick wrapped his arms loosely around Snart, cupping his ass roughly as Len shifted again to get himself more leverage. Mick left his legs open wide as Snart started to thrust, pulling himself out oh so gently and pushing in slowly but firmly. It was good, pleasant even. The slow thrum of Len’s cock inside him compounded with Len’s lips at his collar bone, his jaw, finding his mouth. The measured kiss, the steady movement of his tongue in blissful unison with his cock was almost _tender_ , Mick realised.

They weren’t just _fucking_ , they were _making love_. Snart never did anything he didn’t plan to, so each push in, each slight angle change, it was calculated, all deliberate. Len’s cock brushed against Mick’s prostate, making the bigger man groan, long and low.

“You’re a fucking _tease_ , Len,” Mick gripped Snart’s ass a little tighter, pulling him harder into the thrust, “don’t leave me with blue balls here.”

Len grinned against Mick’s neck, licking up to his ear and biting the lobe lightly. “You want me to go harder?”

Mick grunted in response. “I asked you to _fuck_ me, didn’t I?”

Snart didn’t say anything else, opting to push himself suddenly as deep as he could into Mick’s ass, almost smirking at the groan he tugged out of the man. He upped his pace, ramped it right up to eleven, arms braced against the sides of the couch as he fucked Mick into the seat.

Mick wrapped his legs up and around Len’s waist, giving the thief better access to his ass, and slipped one hand down to grip his cock. Eyes glinting, Len put more force behind his hips until he was balls deep with every thrust, relishing the low moans Mick was making as his back arched up off the couch. For Snart, this was exhilarating. Mick was a force of nature, uncontrollable by definition. On a job Len could act as the gale, whipping the forest fire into a frenzy and pointing it toward fuel. He could keep Mick in check, just about. But off the job Mick was a force of his own will. It was almost tradition for every heist they pulled to end up with Snart face down with Mick on top of him, releasing all that pent up aggression. But now it was Len who was in charge, Mick’s pleasure his will and his alone.

“I want you to come for me.” Snart could feel the sweat on his back, his chest, his forehead building as he angled up to hit against Mick’s prostate, a familiar tightness building deep within himself. “Jack until you come, Mick. _For me_.” Snart was pleading; it was beneath him and he should bite it back but there, in the moment, with Mick riding the edge of ecstasy he just couldn’t. Self control only goes to a point.

In near-silent reply, Mick pumped his hand faster at his cock, his teeth gritted and his eyes screwed shut. Len felt good inside him; he was hitting every button he had, working him to the edge. His hand did the rest, slick with sweat from himself and Snart, working faster and faster until he couldn’t hang on any longer.

Head thrown back, legs squeezing Len’s waist tighter, Mick was coming: hot and white and thick into his hand, across his stomach, up Snart’s abdomen. Mick was left panting; gasping for breath, his whole body throbbing as his heart beat harder, his cock twitching with each pulse.

Len could barely keep it together himself. Mick’s orgasm flowed through him, contracting around Len’s cock and tipping him over the edge. White hot lightning surged through Snart’s body, his muscles clenching and his fingers tingling as he released, Mick’s name on his lips.

A large hand rubbed over Snart’s scalp from the nape of his neck to his forehead, Mick’s thumb trailing from his temple to his jaw. Len was breathing hard, just about holding himself up over Mick’s chest, his limbs ready to give in at any second. There was something in the pyromaniac’s eyes, next to the fire, that made him feel... strange. In that second Len felt worth a damn, more than he ever had done in his life, that he – _Leonard Snart_ – had somehow achieved something _worthwhile_.

 _Pride_. It was pride.

Mick’s other hand pressed in between his shoulder blades, pushing him down onto his chest, tucking his head under his chin.

“You did good, kid.”


End file.
